When They Said Forever
by spiffy the scribbler
Summary: Preq. to When We Say Forever, thus read that first. OC centred: The lifetimes of the Archangels Uriel and Raphael after the breaking of the Coven. Before Schuyler and Jack's forever began, there was Uriel and Raphael's. [ABANDONED]
1. The Regency

_**Hello again, my lovelies :) **_

_**If you haven't read my other story, When We Say Forever, then click my username and read it. THIS IS A PREQUEL to that story, and revolves around my OC's.**_

_**I realise that this took a while to get online, but I've been busy overseas, going out, shopping, visiting relatives and such... And will remain overseas till April. I have, however, found time to upload my chapters. I'll upload the first couple (or few?) as a Christmas present :D**_

_**This is my first Regency attempt, thus be kind :)**_

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England

_1780_

'They enjoy each other's presence already,' Her Grace, Duchess of St Ives, said fondly, watching the children on the drawing room carpet. 'Of course, that is to be expected from those two.' Her closest friend, Lady Winchester, Marchioness of Winchester, nodded.

Sitting on the floor was an angel of a three year old; a sapphire-eyed girl with white-gold hair framing her face like silk. She was the Duke and Duchess of St Ives' only child, Georgiana Elizabeth Amelia de Vere Cavendish Anstruther-Black. Beside her, and very close indeed, was another angelic child; his hair a richer, darker gold, and with eyes greener than they were blue, he was the only child and son of the Marquess and Marchioness of Winchester. His name was Frederick Alexander Robert Fitzalan-Scott Grosvenor Stoneleigh. At five years old, he was the infant betrothed of Georgiana. The noble house of Anstruther-Black had long been tied with the Stoneleigh clan, and thus, the two heirs would create the ultimate scion between them.

At least, that was what the Red Bloods thought.

* * *

Frederick had always been a shy boy, always quiet and so very polite when he did speak. As a young child, there had been only one he would openly talk to, only one whom he could be, frankly, open _with_. At the ton's most genteel country parties, many noticed the juvenile Earl of Calthorpe and future Marquess of Winchester was quite happy to sit with the infant Lady Georgiana Anstruther-Black, not speaking at all. Many of the younger girls noticed the way he staunchly held his companion's hand, swinging his legs from the garden bench because his toes could not reach the ground, while she smiled and giggled for all the adoring – and envious – mamas of society.

When they were not together, both children frequently inquired when they were to see their dear friend (or as most recalled years later, childhood sweetheart) next. But when Frederick turned eleven, the time came for him to be sent to Eton, and they saw drastically less of each other. He was educated at schoolmasters, she by a governess at home. They glimpsed each other now and then at country house parties over the next few years, but were never quite allowed the same liberties as they once were as children.

Georgiana, theoretically, should not have been lonely. She was constantly attended by not only her parents – affectionate and loving, she thought gladly – but by the doting household help; they all adored her, the butlers wiggling their moustaches at her to make her laugh, the cooks and maidservants spoiling her with an extra biscuit before supper or with a slice of cake for breakfast. There were the other girls, daughters of her mother and father's friends, that she met; some haughty, some coy, some so painfully quiet they stuttered when they spoke, all of the same exclusive social circle. But none were so elevated as to better Georgiana; she was the daughter of the most powerful duke in all of England, if not the Continent as well. She was the heiress to his esteemed title, and to the infamous Anstruther-Black fortune. Her dowry alone, not including her inheritance, was rumoured to be more than one hundred thousand pounds – more than most gentleman could ever earn in a lifetime.

But it was more than the wealth; the upper classes had strict, subtle social codes to distinguish the irritatingly increasingly wealthy middle class. First and foremost, there was one's family, one's pedigree and lineage to consider. Background was of utmost importance in determining the level of one's status. And then came the matter of money; a respectable gentleman, aristocracy excluded, ought to have been earning enough to keep a comfortable house in the country and another in town, and should be able to provide for a family once the time came. Clergymen were the exception, but they were not exactly sort that one desired to keep as company, although they were better than the lower classes. Breeding was next; one's manners, pleasantries and ability to converse and be conversed with. It was this last element that truly discerned the upper classes, the respectable, the old wealth, from the newly-rich, north-accented ruffians that spoke nearly as roughly as Scotsmen, the uneducated, painfully unsophisticated, unappreciative of the arts and beauty.

They were the ton, the beau monde; in all of England who grew up in privilege, comprised of the land-owning gentry and the aristocracy. If the aristocracy were the elite of the upper classes, the house of Anstruther-Black and the Stoneleigh family were the crème de la crème of the elite.

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1802

When Georgiana was fifteen, on the brink of her first London season, she was granted membership to Almack's Assembly Rooms, the most exclusive social club in England. It was almost impossible to gain vouchers allowing entry, and that was because Almack's was in fact the Blue Blood Headquarters of the country. Money was not the key of entry to Almack's, which was the system in place to keep out the nouveau riche; breeding and behaviour was more important. Possession of a noble title was recommended, as was position, and only three-quarters of the English nobility were admitted. Almack's was the English branch of vampires, and was governed by a committee of the most influential women from England's most powerful families, otherwise known as the Lady Patronesses of Almack's. These ladies were either Wardens, or Conclave members, or wives of either. It was through these ladies that one was admitted into Almack's, and Her Grace, the Duchess of St Ives, was one of them, so it was no surprise that her ravishingly pretty daughter Georgiana was the first on their list of new members.

Because not only was she the daughter of society's loveliest and most powerful duchess, a high-ranking member of the Coven, and her husband the Duke, a Conclave member, but Georgiana was of a rare, special, particularly unique breed of Blue Blood. She was the Archangel Uriel, the Glorious, one of the Uncorrupted. And she, the Patronesses knew, would be their future Regis. She was part of the new generation of Blue Bloods, and her heritage would have to be explained to her, as would the others.

The start of the London season was marked by the presentation of eligible young women to the King at St. James' Palace – the debutantes. Frederick was there for Georgiana's presentation, at a dashing seventeen to her fifteen, the evening before the first customary Wednesday meeting for Almack's. He was, by then, very aware of what he was – of _who_ he was. He was also aware of who Georgiana was; he considered it very fortunate that he was drawn to her as a child, if their futures were to be so entwined. She had always been pretty growing up, all dazzling smiles and sweet eyes, golden hair and creamy, flawless complexion. But when Frederick finally saw her again, saw her clearly after all those years away at school, when she was presented, it was nothing like he had known as a boy.

* * *

The first season's meeting of Almack's was full of wide-eyed debutantes and heirs, Georgiana saw as she sat down at a long table, dressed in the finest lace and silverware. They were in the club's ballroom, and Georgiana recognised nearly all the faces that surrounded her. There was Henry Pittsworth, the Viscount Brunswick's son, Beatrice Carrington, the Lady Ogilvy's daughter. These were the sons and daughters of England's most wealthy and powerful families. She glanced down at her arms; those unnatural blue marks were itching again, and she stuck them to her lap self-consciously. Her mother had said it was normal, that it would be all right, and so Georgiana believed it so. She was very close to her mother, and loved her dearly.

The ballroom was cream-coloured hall gilded in gold, and floored in hard, polished wood. Most walls were covered in giant mirrors, but one of them was lined in arch-topped windows, and everything else was panelled in delicate decoration. But on the far end were several tapestries. Georgiana squinted. There were symbols on the tapestries, and if she wasn't hallucinating – which she probably was, she thought – they were a shimmering, glowing blue, almost the same colour as the pattern on her arms. Georgiana blinked, and then shook her head. She was probably still light-headed from Lady Torrington's breakfast this morning.

At the Torrington's Mayfair house, it had happened again. Georgiana had been talking to Lord Severn, when she began to feel dizzy; she had been having these strange moments where she found herself... In a daze. The same people, different clothing, and while her surroundings looked different, she could recognise it as the same place she stood in reality. But it was not like that today. What happened that morning was something that had _always_ been happening.

Georgiana, after beginning to feel light-headed, shut her eyes, and she sensed a blinding flash, but when she opened her eyes, she found herself in a bright, warm meadow, and the same woman who visited her dreams was there, sitting by the clear, crystal stream. An overwhelmingly beautiful woman, whose hair was the colour of the palest, most lustrous gold, whose eyes were like brilliant emeralds, and, most unsettling of all, whose face haunted her in her sleep.

The woman's face was that of her own. The woman who called to her and said, _Sister_.

She did not speak, technically, but Georgiana heard her as if she had. Her smile was radiant. Who are you? Georgiana wondered.

_I am you._

Georgiana tried to baulk, but found herself slowly walking toward the woman, not feeling troubled, only wondering, questioning. Curious, like a child. _Who are you?_ she thought again. The enigmatic woman seemed to always be able to read her thoughts, and sometimes, in her dreams and in strange moments like this, Georgiana tried to do the same. It was like trying to grasp at smoke; she could see it, sense it – she could _feel_ the connection, but it kept slipping out of her fingers.

_I am your eternal sister. _The woman's eyes shone, and she opened her arms. _Come._

Georgiana could not help herself; she dropped to her knees on the grass and huddled in the woman's tender, warm embrace. _I do not have a sister_, she thought, frowning faintly. The woman looked to be as old as her own mother and father – and she was their only child; the only heir to the Anstruther-Black house.

_I am your sister, Little One_, she said again. Smiling, the woman gently touched Georgiana's heart; Georgiana nearly flinched, but relaxed almost instantly, somehow unafraid. She could almost... She somehow knew. This woman would not harm her.

_Never_, she heard the woman whisper fiercely in her mind. Georgiana felt the soft kisses across her forehead. It strangely reminded her of her mother, but not quite. Just the same warm, nurturing, protective presence. In the woman's arms, Georgiana felt... Safe. Somehow whole. Like nothing in the world could ever be wrong. Through her childhood, she had felt an odd ache inside her, as though something was not there that should have been. Georgiana had grown to ignore it, to accept its presence, but there were nights that she jolted awake, wide-eyed and yearning, longing for something, something she couldn't name or place. The only thing she seemed to want to do was run to her mother's room, and let her mother hold her, rock her to sleep – but it did not take the ache, the pain, away.

But with this woman, with this stranger whose face was so familiar, the ache disappeared. _What is your name?_ Georgiana ventured, lifting her head to look into the woman's bright green eyes. They were like jewels, glittering and priceless with warmth and love. Love? But she had never met her before.

_You know my name, sister._

Yes, she did. The moment she was answered, the name echoed in her mind and whispered on her lips. _Gabrielle._

The woman's eyes shone, and her face was one of utmost happiness. _Yes._ Her arms around Georgiana tightened, and she brushed her lips over the crown of her head. _Be good, my darling. _

And then when Georgiana tried to look into her face again, she found staring at an ornate ceiling, lying on the daybed in the Torrington's private sitting room.

'Georgiana?' Her mother's face was the first she saw. She stroked Georgiana's forehead. 'How are you feeling?' But she didn't look particularly flustered – well, the most respectable of ladies knew how to keep composure even in the event of a stampede, Georgiana supposed – but her mother did not look worried.

'What happened?' Georgiana asked, pushing herself to sit up, much to the dismay of the people she suddenly saw in the room; they murmured, moving forward in case she fell. She was a little faint, but nothing more.

'You fainted.' Her father's voice, smooth and low, came from behind her.

She turned her neck – and gasped in pain. A muscle in her neck spasmed, sending sharp jolts of pain through her.

'Shh now...' The Duke of St. Ives said, his hands moving to gently massage his daughter's neck. 'Do not move so vigorously.'

Georgiana leaned into her father's solid warmth, his fingers easing the pain bit by bit, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was alone with her parents. 'It happened again,' she said quietly.

'What?' her mother asked, helping her sit without the back of the chair, allowing her feet to touch the floor.

'I saw her again.' Georgiana frowned. 'I don't have a sister, do I Mama?'

The Lady Anstruther-Black smiled, laughing. 'No, of course not, silly girl.'

And that had been that. Afterwards, she had complained of a slight headache, and her mother had nursed her tenderly in the empty drawing room. But her mother and father had informed her that under no circumstances would she miss the meeting at Almack's tonight. Why, Georgiana hadn't the faintest idea. She had pleaded to stay at their house in Grosvenor Square, but they had been unmoving. It was unnerving, to say the least. She had never seen them so insistent on anything before.

'Mama, please,' she had begged, kneeling by her mother in the house's sumptuously decorated informal drawing room. Her mother was sitting by the fire, reading invitations from the various hostesses of the ton. 'Let me stay at home. I am still so dizzy from this morning...' She had already wheedled on her father, who at first had been firm and unmoving, but had (unsurprisingly) given in and said that if her mother agreed, she would not have to go.

But Her Grace had smiled sympathetically, stroking her daughter's hair as she continued to file through the letters. 'I'm sorry, my darling, but this is something that I must insist you attend.'

'But _why?_' Georgiana was on the brink of tears. She had never not gotten her way before. Well, not like this. When she was forced to do something she did not want to do, she was usually appeased soon after by her parents. But now, her mother only sat there, her resolve apparently no longer affected by her daughter's once-heartbreaking pleas. 'Why do I have to go?' She knew that all she would do there was meet marriage prospects – prospects that really didn't count, considering she had been betrothed since the day she was born. She had not seen him in so long, but...

'Almack's will allow you to create your own circle of friends for the seasons to come,' Lady Charlotte said soothingly. 'You don't want to be on your own for the summer, do you?' She brushed a golden strand from Georgiana's face. 'Come now, be a good girl and get dressed.'

And that had been the end of it. Other than the fact that her mama was one of the ladies in charge, and that her father was an esteemed member, Georgiana knew Almack's for two reasons. The first was for its infamous exclusivity; one came to Almack's to see and be seen; only the most powerful and influential families were members. Secondly, she knew it as the most desirable marriage mart in society. If one was of a marriageable age and was seeking a partner, there was no better place to find on than at Almack's; the poor, ill-bred, uneducated, unworthy ones lacking any sophistication, class and prestige had already been filtered out. All that was left was England's finest.

She had hoped to see Frederick tonight, but as she looked around, it seemed that everyone here was the same age as she: fifteen. Georgiana knew he was older, and so perhaps was not required tonight? At the thought, her heart sank. Where was her mother, anyway? As one of the famed Patronesses, she of all people should have been here. Where were all the old people? she wondered cheekily. Where was her father? _He_ would have made tonight interesting, at least.

'It's terribly rude to keep us waiting,' Lady Portia Sandringham remarked beside her.

Georgiana heard her friend laugh, but something was not right about it. Her mother frowned on unpunctuality. At least, when it was socially unacceptable. One did not arrive at a dinner party during dinner. One did not emerge at a ball halfway through the quadrille.

At that moment, the great double doors opened, and a magnificent train, led by her mother and father, entered the hall. The salon was lit only by the glowing candlelight from the chandeliers, and the train looked hauntingly beautiful as they walked in. They dispersed around the room, lining the walls, but a few gathered at the front.

'Good evening,' her mother said, her voice soothing and melodic. 'Forgive us for keeping you waiting.' She smiled serenely. 'You have all been invited here for one purpose.' She held the attention of all in the room; her companions beside her were committee members in charge of Almack's, the other Patronesses, and several men, Georgiana's father included, stood silently behind them, immersed in shadows. 'You are the new intake for the society of Almack's. You may know that here at this club, we take only the worthy members of society. We take only one kind – the kind that you are.'

The long table remained silent, still, held by the soothing, warm sound of the Duchess' voice.

'You have noticed the peculiar marks on your arms...'

* * *

A Blue Blood. One of the Almighty's angels. Georgiana had been sceptical initially, but the fact that it was her own dear mother saying it reinforced the truth. The new Almack's intake was the youngest; unsurprisingly, all of them had turned fifteen that year. They were a special kind, one unmatched and unparalleled by any on earth. They were England's elite, wealthy and influential, but they were _immortal_.

After the meeting, in the carriage, her mother had revealed that she did, indeed, have a sister. Not her daughter – the cycles she had explained back at the club – but Georgiana's sister. Her heavenly, immortal sister.

'Gabrielle...' Georgiana whispered, remembering the face that could have been her own. The angel Gabrie – Georgiana blinked. Everyone knew, the Red Bloods and Blue Bloods alike, of the Archangel Gabrielle. The one talked about on Sundays. 'My sister – my sister is...'

'Your sister is Gabrielle, the Virtuous. One of the Uncorrupted,' her mother said. 'Like you.'

'The Uncorrupted?'

'You are not guilty of the sins against Heaven. You followed the fallen into exile of your accord.' She touched Georgiana's face, smiling sadly. 'There are only three others like you.'

And her mother proceeded to tell her of Michael, Pure of Heart, Gabrielle, the Virtuous, and Raphael, Holy Physician. Her mother began to explain everything – when Georgiana's memory began to flood back. Gabrielle had left with Michael for the New World, America. She reflected on it for a moment, but what she could not stop thinking about was Raphael – her soul mate, her eternal other half. The one she had pledged her love and spirit to in Paradise. Raphael... Raphael was Frederick, the same boy her heart still longed for.

'That is why you are betrothed,' Lady Charlotte said. 'That is why we could pair you two together from the moment you were born.'

When Frederick finished school, Georgiana thought she might see a little more of him, but instead he had gone to Cambridge. When he had graduated, then, at last, Georgiana thought, they would be reunited. But that was not to be, as her mother informed her that he was undertaking a customary Grand Tour, the chaperoned tour of the Continent supposedly to see and learn the work the old masters, to learn the languages and make social acquaintances in the various countries. But Georgiana, having dutifully been informed by Portia whose own brother took the Tour a few years back, knew that it was really a pretence for a holiday of sensuality, and passion and hedonism, and for the Blue Bloods like them, a feast of familiars as well. She recoiled from the thought. Frederick might take a familiar (or several), but he would never... He was not the type to – to... Frederick was no rake, no seducer. She knew him.

Or she wanted to think she did. Georgiana had her memories, and her twin had always to the core been gentle, and kind and loving. Eternally loyal to her. Even before their bondings. She was the only reason he was on earth at all; he had abandoned Paradise to be with her. If that was not love, then she did not know if it existed. Her sister still visited her dreams, and Georgiana was happy with her, but to know who her love was and for him to be so far away... The pain was unbearable some days.

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**I just needed to get out an introduction to the context... Not sure if it was entirely necessary, but I felt it was.**

** How'd you like it so far?**

** spiffy**


	2. 1808

**The real story structure begins here... I loved the image of Dominic- er, Raphael as a Regency gentleman. I sigh and grow giddy with delight! **

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1808

He was back in England the year Georgiana turned twenty one. She was, he had heard, the most wanted bride in all of London society. The fact that he – and no one else – had the Duke and Duchess' blessing did not stop suitors piling at her doorstep, did not halt the courting and the waltzes requested of her. An overwhelming surge of possessiveness overcame him, and Frederick shifted in his seat in the carriage, listening to the comforting beat of his horses' hooves against the ground. His Conduit and good friend, Oliver, the Lord St Austell, sat opposite him.

'What're you smiling about?' he murmured.

Oliver shrugged. 'Nice to be home, is all.' He was a ginger-haired fellow, with a friendly demeanour and a kind heart, and although was often brushed aside when with Frederick, did not mind the lack of attention. He was the kind of man who looked about the world like a child, but had the logic and reason of a world-weary traveller. He kicked Frederick's boot affectionately. 'Cheer up, Freddie. You're the only unhappy thing in the world with weather like this.' He peered out the window; it was warm and sunny, and a beautiful day in general. 'What are you so gloomy about, anyway? You're the most wanted man on the Continent, every mama in the ton wants you for their daughter, _and _you've got the prettiest girl in England, the world as _some_ might say, as your future bride.' Oliver smiled cheerfully at his long-limbed friend gracefully lounging on the opposite carriage seat. 'Not much to be gloomy about, my dear Frederick.'

'How do you know that?'

'What?'

'That she's the prettiest girl in England.' Frederick had heard things. Lots of things. Like how wherever she went, she was swarmed by gentlemen vying for her attention, and how her dance card was always full before the first dance even began. How she drew the gaze of every hot-blooded male in the vicinity. The most desired woman in all of London society, they had said. And no ignorant chit; her conversation and wit could match any Cambridge scholar. An agreeable, pleasant demeanour, so radiant and full of warmth, everything else seemed unimportant...

Oliver smiled wryly. 'You told me.'

* * *

Lady Georgiana Anstruther-Black looked at her reflection in the mirror. He was back. God above, he was back at last! She had not seen him in a year or more, and not spoken to him in longer. And yet, she felt that she knew him. Knew him better than all others; actually knew _him_. The real him. His spirit and his soul. Georgiana could sense him, as though he were nearby, as though she could _feel_ his very being with her own.

A knock came from the door.

'My lady?' her maid, Ellie, inquired.

'Yes, Ellie.'

A pale but apple-cheeked girl with bright brown eyes and raven locks came into her room and scurried to fix Georgiana's thick, lustrous hair. 'Up, then, my lady?' she asked, raising Georgiana's hair from her shoulders.

'No. Leave it out, please.' Georgiana touched the simple jewel at her throat; a family heirloom, worth more than most could ever earn, let alone afford. 'But tie this up with ribbon,' she added, reaching over to motion to the top half of her hair. She watched as Ellie skilfully tied the bow; her hair was half up, half down. She didn't want to appear prude, with it tied back tightly. She had recently had a memory where Frederick – Raphael – had been gazing at her lovingly, and her hair had been this way. She wanted him to remember it too.

'There,' Ellie said proudly. Her mistress was the most charming girl in all of England, and as a maid, she was treated very well. She did not look it, but she was only a few years younger than Georgiana. 'His lordship won't be able to resist,' she said, looking at Georgiana in the mirror. She wore no powder, no rouge. She didn't need it. Her skin was as clear and flawless as a perfect summer sky, and there was a pretty, natural colour on her lovely cheekbones.

Georgiana smiled appreciatively. 'I should hope so.' She sighed. 'Thank you, Ellie. Please tell Mama I will be down soon.'

* * *

When she came down the stairs into the entrance hall, sliding her hand down the banister, she saw him. Swiftly, she scanned his features. In conversation, he was known as Lord Calthorpe, Earl of Calthorpe, now. The wide patrician brow and his tender, hooded eyes were only the beginning of the aristocratic, deeply handsome face.

Lord Calthorpe's jaw was strong and square, his cheekbones prominent but not protruding, the lines of his face soft and angular at the same time. He was not the boy she had met as a child. Then, he had been all innocence and cherub-like, soft blond hair and rosy cheeked. Now... He looked sharper, wiser, and while he was definitely older, there was an exuberance about him that could only stem from the thrill of youth. Thrills indeed... Georgiana swallowed. He would not have been so... He would not have... All those women, in those dark Parisian alleyways and incense-filled houses... Women draped in silk and reeking of strong perfume and painted in white... Georgiana shuddered. He would not betray her that way, even if every other man in England would have. Would he?

Regardless of her thoughts, she could not tear her eyes away, could not stop the galloping pace of the beat of her heart. As she came closer, she could see the softness and tenderness of his eyes. It was a beautiful contrast to the devastating, striking handsomeness of his face. She could hear their conversation, even from the top of the stairs. His bearing was noble, but endearing in its ease and dignity. Georgiana saw the body beneath the clothes; the hard, masculine limbs wrapped in elegant attire. Taking in his broad-shouldered frame, she felt his presence from where she stood. Golden blond hair, darker than she remembered, waved in elegant disarray; his cravat was a neat flourish of precise folds held together by a winking gold pin. Buckskin breeches clung to his long legs, and Georgiana could see the powerful muscle leading down into his polished Hessians. She took a shaky breath; she wanted to run down the stairs, but refrained herself.

'Yes, I enjoyed Florence most, I think,' Frederick said, walking as the Duke led him further into the hall, near to the foot of the imperial staircase. 'I made a good friend in the Riccardi family.'

'Should you like to go again?' The Duchess asked.

Frederick smiled. 'Yes, very much.'

The Duchess nodded before she turned her head, and Frederick followed her gaze. He'd last seen her at her coming out ball, a week or so after her presentation to the King. Then, she'd only been fifteen; wide-eyed and coltish, and so innocent, Frederick had wanted to wrap her in silk and fine furs and protect her with his very heart. But as she came down, he was anchored to the spot, unable to move. Unable to think. To breathe.

* * *

Georgiana had been smiling, but it faded when she sensed Frederick stiffen. She saw his face harden, nearly cold in its inflexibility. He bowed, his tall, noble figure rigid as he forced a smile at her, but he looked away soon after. Georgiana's heart sank.

'Georgiana.'

His voice was even, but impassive. Untouched, unmoved by her. And yet... And yet, she was so affected by him, it was painful. His presence was so strong against hers that Georgiana wanted to run into his arms, his being was so very palpable. Even from the few feet between them, she could feel the sheer pull towards him.

'How are you?' Frederick asked. His voice was low, deep and silky, quiet even, but his question was painfully polite, even strained.

But Georgiana thought he looked blank. He didn't really care how she was. He looked distracted, almost pained. So it was true, then, Georgiana thought. He had spent his Grand Tour enjoying the women of the Continent, and she was no longer interesting. No longer what he wanted. She could not square her memories, the ones of his tender affection, of their undying love, with who she saw now. Georgiana, too, forced a smile. 'Quite well, thank you.' She looked down at her hands, willing herself not to cry, to fight the sting at the back of her eyes. He did not want her. Not really. 'I take it the Continent was – ' Georgiana steeled herself. She was Uriel, after all. Mighty and glorious, no weakling to tears. Her voice took on an unconscious cool tone, suggestive with the faintest trace of mockery. ' – enjoyable?' She thought he saw him frown, but she could not be sure. She could not read anything on his face, and his eyes hardly once met hers. Georgiana felt him so deeply, felt their connection, but she ignored it. She did not want to love one who did not love her.

But she could not help it.

'We have been standing here far too long,' her mother said. 'Shall we adjourn for lunch?'

Frederick only nodded graciously.

* * *

They sat opposite each other in the private dining room; a room filled with the portraits of the Anstruther-Blacks' proudest members. There was a hearth, and the furniture was rich mahogany. The ceiling was carved and gilded, and hanging in the centre of the room was a crystal chandelier. It was tastefully appointed, but much more intimate than the dining hall on the ground floor, and more formal than the breakfast parlour.

Georgiana tried not to watch him, tried to focus on the delicious food set before her, but there was something inside her that desperately yearned to be close to him, and so supplemented their distance with longing glances. He was, unsurprisingly, elegant at the table. She could not stop staring at his hands; they were large, and his fingers were long, strong, yet supple. He ate with an understated, dignified air, but he did not look in the least comfortable.

He would rather be somewhere else, Georgiana knew. She wanted to read his mind, to unlock the puzzle and see what was inside, but she felt that she had no right, even if they were vampire twins. He looked up from his meal and met her eyes, but he was also the first to look away, so quickly she had no chance of seeing into them again.

Georgiana clenched her hand beneath the table. It was as though he could not stand her. Perhaps it was so? Perhaps he harboured love for another? Perhaps... Perhaps he would break his vow? Renounce their past, live a new life that did not include her... Georgiana's heart began to break at the thought. Knowing everything she did, remembering it all, she could not picture her future without him. She reached for her glass of wine, and glimpsed his knuckles; they were white, and his fist was clenched, just like hers.

She brushed the fact aside. He did not want her. She did not want to care. Whatever had aggravated him so suddenly, despite the quiet atmosphere of the room, was his own business. Georgiana didn't care for his feelings, and continued to eat silently, even though she had no appetite. The succulent meat was tasteless in her mouth as Frederick resumed eating, his body stiff and rigid. The damn bastard couldn't even look her in the eye, Georgiana thought. He was her betrothed, her love, but his love for her was a lie. He was only pretending to care, appearing to tolerate her, when he wanted no one, wanted nothing _less_ than he wanted her.

* * *

Lord Frederick Stoneleigh, Earl of Calthorpe, future Marquess of Winchester, was to leave for his parents' home in East Hampshire in the afternoon. It was both a relief and a pain for Georgiana. She would be glad to see the back of him, yet she wanted him to stay, to be near to him.

They were in the sitting room, playing cards. Her mother was winning, and seemed not too happy about it, but only because two of her companions were wordless and appeared not to be trying.

'Georgiana, you were better before today,' she chided affectionately. 'She used to decimate her father and I,' she told Frederick.

Georgiana was looking at her hand, the numbers and the spades and hearts a meaningless pile. 'I'm sorry,' was all she said.

'Do you not feel well?'

She looked up; Frederick had been the one to ask. Georgiana blinked, shaking her head. 'I am fine,' she said quietly. Why should he care? She was his future wife – but only out of duty, out of obligation. She thought that had been the way of the Red Bloods, to marry for heirs and wealth and responsibility. She thought that the Blue Bloods united in love; that was what they had been told. United with those they had pledged their love to in Heaven. She thought that marriage was the sphere in which Blue Bloods were most privileged; they would be with the one who was the other half of their soul, their eternal mate. But whatever love Raphael had for Uriel seemed to not exist anymore.

Seeing Frederick frown, fully this time, surprised her. He looked almost angry, but that was soon gone, replaced by a tender look that made her breath catch.

'I'm afraid cards aren't quite my game,' he said apologetically to her mother and father, smiling sheepishly.

Georgiana felt a little of the makeshift wall of ice she'd built melt. For a moment, she saw the boy she used to know, and the one she had loved through her lifetimes. For only a moment.

* * *

That night, as Georgiana's maid, Ellie, brushed her hair, the Duchess walked into her daughter's apartments. She dismissed Ellie, and took the task up of brushing Georgiana's hair herself. She looked into the mirror; her daughter did not notice the change, and if she did, she was making no reaction, let alone objection. Georgiana was staring blankly to the side, her eyes a misty dark sky rather than the clear sapphire. The lit candles in the room diffused a muted glow, creating soft shadows and warm corners.

'Do not worry; you will see much more of him in London,' the Duchess said simply. 'I know he was only here for a short while, but you will spend time with him, do not fret.'

But that was not what she was fretting about. Georgiana pushed a smile. 'Of course, Mama.' She shrugged, laughing it off. Weakly, though. 'You are right, as usual.'

The Duchess put the brush down and kissed her daughter's hair, rubbing her arms soothingly, smiling at her in the mirror. 'Get to bed now, my sweet. It has been a long day.'

Georgiana nodded, and after climbing into her billowing bed, received a kiss goodnight from her mother as she lay there before she watched her blow out the candles in the room and left, with a last, gentle, 'Good night, Georgiana,' and then the doors shut after her. An endless wheel of the thought had been turning in her mind the moment Frederick had left, the moment he had left her standing, in a daze, just outside the entrance hall.

'Must you go so soon?' Georgiana blurted, following him outside to the front of the house, onto the stone terrace that led onto the twin staircase. 'My lord?'

Frederick's quick strides, almost frantic, slowed in one last step before halting and turning around.

Georgiana could not read his face, but she sensed... Relief? Wonder? He stared at her with his eyes, those sad, beautiful eyes, before he took two wide, slow steps toward her. Her eyes were level with his mouth, currently relaxed into a slightly thin line, as though he were pressing them together.

'_My lord?'_ he repeated on a questioning whisper. His words brushed against her face in his breath. His eyes were crinkled a little, frowning in what looked to be confusion, as the blue-green orbs searched hers.

They were more green, Georgiana decided. Yes, jewel green, flecked with the melancholy of the ocean. It was rather poetic, she thought, before she realised how close he stood to her, how intensely he was gazing at her. But she was unable to drop her own, wanting to absorb it, to drown in it. Her chin remained high in her attempt to match him, but with what? Why was he staring her that way? He had been painfully civil and polite all afternoon, but there was no affection in his manner, no warmth, no care. But what was this? His gaze was both fierce and tender, or maybe that was what Georgiana wanted to think she saw. But she did not have time to dwell on it, because in the next moment, so fast that she didn't see, Frederick had taken her left hand in his larger ones, and pressed a fervent, passionate kiss on her knuckles.

'I am no lord to you,' he whispered, somehow harshly and desperately. 'Please... It is only Frederick.' His mouth hovered above her fingers, and his lips brushed against them, sending voracious tingles racing through her spine. She was suddenly warm, giddy, his warm mouth creating fierce spark beneath her skin, spreading warmth below the surface.

Georgiana managed to nod, her hand limp, her lips parted in surprise. 'Frederick.'

He kissed her hand again, deeply, as though he wished to impress upon it his very soul, his lips and their soft, slightly rough warmth lingering on her skin a while again. And then he gently, perhaps reluctantly, released her hand, and turned away in haste, and was quickly down the stairs before Georgiana could speak again. When she found control of herself, she managed to see his carriage driving away, a peculiar ginger-top with the reins.

And now, as she lay in bed, clutching a pillow, she was utterly blissful, confused, and agonised. She was still joyful at the way he had departed, but irritated and sad that he had, and perplexed and frustrated at his equivocal, contradictory behaviour. Her thoughts and feelings did not settle, but she fell asleep out of exhaustion, and she dreamed of Gabrielle again; she came almost every night, and sometimes they talked, and others they just held each other, at peace.

But even in the dream, Gabrielle sensed the change in Georgiana.

_What has happened, my sweet?_ Gabrielle's arms were open, and Georgiana fell into them helplessly, seeking comfort in the warmth of a woman she had never met, but somehow knew so well. This was her heavenly sister, a concept she was not yet sure she had made peace with, but had accepted the fact that Gabrielle would always be part of her life now. And she was glad. Gabrielle brushed golden locks away from her brow, and then looking at her sister for a moment, smiled faintly. _It is Raphael._

Georgiana nodded weakly. _Yes._

_He adores you, _Gabrielle assured with her smile. _Why do you worry this way?_

Adore her? Georgiana grimaced. Other than that gentle kiss on her fingers – which could have been quite perfunctory for two de facto betrothed as they were anyhow – there was nothing in his countenance that had said adoration. He hardly seemed to stand her, to bear being in her presence at all.

_Raphael abandoned everything he knew in Heaven to be with you. _Gabrielle shook her head. _Your presence is what he could never bear to be without._ She drew Georgiana closer, kissing her brow. _Perhaps his quiet and shy nature has gotten the better of him._

* * *

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	3. The Season Begins

**So I'm uploading on the cusp of New Year's Eve, and because I think you should all have progressed in this story a long time ago :)**

* * *

When, two weeks later, the Duke and his family drove up to Town in their coach, the Season was not yet in earnest, but many of the great families had already arrived in London to settle in before it did. Several miles from the mansion in Hampshire, Georgiana had drifted into sleep – or a daydream, at least. She dreamt of a boy, a man, a spirit, who held her as though she were a petal, fragile and vulnerable, but so fiercely he thought she might run away. The boy who she had shared dreams and hopes with, who would have done anything, if she would only say so. Who would scour all the heavens and the earth, would make hell itself tremble in his quest to be with her. She dreamt of a love that had burned stronger than the fires of Heaven, of a love so complete and so wonderful it seemed not worth living without. And yet, as Georgiana awoke to the soft clattering of hooves and the rumble of wheels, to the soft panting of Biscuit, her beloved red bloodhound, snuffling her nose into her lap, she knew that she did; she lived without that love, and oh.

How painful it was.

Her mother's voice and touch made her open her eyes. 'Wake up, Georgiana. We're almost there.'

Georgiana lethargically straightened on the seat and stroked Biscuit's head; the bloodhound snuffled contently, resting her head in Georgiana's lap. 'Good girl,' she whispered, rubbing between Biscuit's ears. She had been walking around the estate one morning, years ago, when the cheerful creature had emerged and followed her all the way back to the house. It had surprised her even more when her father let the dog stay with his own hunting pack; he too had a pair of them in the pack, his most beloved of them all. Since Georgiana's first Season, her parents had allowed her to bring Biscuit; also during her first Season, she had discovered what Biscuit truly was. Georgiana looked down at the bloodhound, her paws and nose atop her lap.

The coach halted to a stop at the front of the Duke and Duchess' Grosvenor Square mansion, St Ives House, a magnificent granite pile of sumptuous decoration and proportions, and a waiting footman opened the carriage door and let down the stairs.

'Your Grace,' he said, bowing slightly to the Duke as he stepped out, offering a hand to his wife, and then to Georgiana as they followed.

'Are you still tired, my dear?' he asked, a hand on Georgiana's shoulder as they walked into the house. 'Go on to bed and sleep for a while.' The Duke had always been unusually affectionate toward his daughter; there were many fathers in society who were civil, polite and courteous enough, but the Duke was not afraid to bend protocol. He adored his daughter, loved having her sit in his lap as a child, giggling and smiling; he lavished everything she could ever desire upon her, mostly for the glee he gained when he saw her face light up. 'Worthing,' he ordered the able butler who had stood waiting at the open door, 'please ensure Georgiana wakes in time for dinner.' He kissed her head and watched her climb the staircase to her room.

'Of course, Your Grace.' Worthing was the older of them, but he was every bit able as a Red Blood half his age. And like everyone else in the house, staff or resident, he too harboured a soft spot for the Lady Georgiana.

'Come, my darling,' the Duke said, offering his wife his elbow, 'I believe I must regain my honour on the chessboard.'

* * *

The first few days in London passed by uneventfully for Georgiana. She would accompany her parents in their open carriage through Hyde Park some mornings, and if her father had no business during the day, they went in the afternoon. Sometimes she and her mother went walking, or riding, and on all these days, she was often obliged to stop and greet (and subsequently chat and politely smile to) various gentlemen, but it was when she went walking that this happened most often; in a carriage, it was more difficult. Strangely enough, there were more of her acquaintances and men who attempted to court her rather than familiars; the latter usually came to call at home, under the guise that they too, like nearly every other single man in the ton, were after her hand and were courting her. All supposedly under the watchful eye of the ton's greatest hostess and propriety stickler, the Duchess of St Ives. Of course, her mother allowed her privacy with her familiars, but anyone else – Blue or Red Blood – saw Georgiana in the front sitting room with her mother. In the park, however, men she had met through the Seasons habitually approached her.

'Have you seen the new production of Cleopatra at the Theatre Royal yet, Lady Georgiana?' It was a Mr. Arthur Wellesley, son of the Baron Wellesley – a Red Blood with an uppity sort of air.

'I'd say not to,' Jack Belvedere, the son of Lord Ponsonby, said pointedly, smiling at Georgiana. 'Terrible performance, madam.' He winked in a friendly way; he was not a suitor, rather, Georgiana's Conduit.

Georgiana giggled accordingly, but unlike all the times passed, the sound was weaker. Less bright. She had preferred to stay at home this morning, but her mother – chatting to another of the Patronesses and one of the ton's leading matrons, Countess Willoughby – insisted fresh air would do her good.

And also subtly noted that there would be a chance that someone in particular might also be at the park.

Arthur flushed. 'I didn't know you were the sort to appreciate theatrical drama, Belvedere,' he said acidly.

'Easy gentlemen,' a smooth, low voice said, coming from behind Georgiana. 'You'll tire her ladyship with your bickering.'

Georgiana sighed in relief inwardly. It was not the man she had been wanting to see, but it was no clamouring admirer, and was at the very least, a good friend.

A devastatingly handsome man by the name of Kingsley Martin stepped beside Georgiana, taking her hand in his and kissing it, almost brazenly, in front of the other two men. 'Lady Georgiana,' he murmured, catching her eyes in his gaze with a mischievous glint.

Kingsley, Lord Martin, Earl of Manchester, had not the most respectable reputation; a rake, a hedonist, rumoured to have bedded every bored and disgruntled wife in London, but he came from one of the wealthiest, most respectable families, titles to boot. His dark hair curled near his collar, and his smile was somewhat predatory – but not to Georgiana.

Arthur turned about red, while Jack stiffened.

'Hello, Manchester,' Georgiana said; one hardly ever used first names in public polite society, indeed, the titled were often called anything _but_ their first name; only the most intimate of friends or family were privy to use of a first name. She raised her brows at his complexion. 'Have you been touring the Continent again?' He really was rather dark at the moment, almost as dark as a Spaniard.

Lord Martin smiled devilishly. 'The pleasures of the Continent are far and wide, Georgiana,' he said. 'Perhaps you should join me sometime.'

Arthur cleared his throat irritably.

'Oh,' Georgiana said, blinking, and looking at Kingsley, 'my lord, I believe you are not acquainted with Mr. Wellesley?'

'Indeed.' Lord Martin bowed graciously, although this seemed to seemed to further infuriate Mr. Wellesley, whose eye twitched.

'Manchester,' greeted Jack curtly.

'Belvedere.'

Kingsley offered his arm to Georgiana. 'Come, my dear. I believe your mother is asking for you a ways over there.'

'Oh, yes, thank you.' She took his arm gratefully. She smiled at her former companions. 'Gentlemen, I thank you for your company.'

They nodded (one looking as though he might burst if he spoke), and Jack said, 'Perchance we'll meet at Lady Obaldestone's tonight?'

Georgiana nodded. 'Yes.' She turned with Kingsley, and whispered as they walked away, 'Thank you.'

Kingsley sighed, looking pleased with himself. 'Well, I don't know where your _usual_ knight in armour is, so I thought I would best act in his stead.' He grinned. 'I'm sure he would not appreciate his damsel being helplessly tossed to the beasts.'

'Jack Belvedere is not a beast.'

'No, but Mr. Wellesley is.'

'You're very terrible,' Georgiana chided laughingly. 'What knight of mine do you speak of, pray?'

Kingsley raised a brow.

'Oh.' Georgiana looked down at her skirts uncomfortably. She had not seen him since that afternoon at Perryton. 'Yes, he seems to be... Absent.'

'Georgiana!' her mother called. She was smiling, but her expression changed altogether when she saw who her daughter was with. It would not do to have Georgiana with someone of Manchester's ilk, despite his status in the coven. 'Come quickly, now.'

'Thank you again, Kingsley,' Georgiana said, pulling her arm from Kingsley's. 'Will you be at the ball tonight?'

Kingsley smiled with a strange, knowing smugness. 'Perhaps.' He bowed. 'I will see if I can find your knight to come along.'

Before Georgiana could speak again, he had disappeared. Her knight... She thought she had sensed him, but the presence was gone – or at least, further than she dared chase in the glom. If she just outstretched her mind, just reached for him... Georgiana shook her head, and hurried back to her mother.

* * *

Although there had been nothing official, the entire ton knew they were unofficially betrothed. Every single man and woman of polite society _knew_ they were very likely to be engaged to be married, had been since they born – and yet, men flocked to her in the masses. Familiars, Frederick granted, were fine, but females of her standing always received them at her home, where her mother and father's presence quelled any impropriety, to avoid the gossip and scandal of the Red Bloods. But no, there were still those who sought her out, seeking her company and her dances.

Under normal circumstances, if a woman failed to procure an offer of marriage within two or three, or even a maximum of four Seasons of her presentation, she was thought a failure outright. But when engagements stood pending as theirs did, acknowledged but not always evident, it was a different matter.

As was the case now, at Lady Obaldestone's ball. She was dressed in a creation of periwinkle blue silk, the dress _just_ draping off her shoulders, and her hair was glimmering, her skin nearly luminescent – of course, it truly _was_ for the Blue Bloods present at the ball.

Georgiana held a fan to her face, laughing with her friend Portia Sandringham; Portia's familiar, a handsome young gentleman – but now slightly glazed-over – Henry d'Arcy stood with them.

'Lord Calthorpe is back from the Continent,' Portia said airily. 'You knew that, didn't you?'

Hiding her blush with her fan, Georgiana nodded. 'Yes... Yes, he came down to Perryton to visit.'

Portia was delirious with glee. '_Did he?'_ she gasped, eyes wide as saucers, fanning herself furiously. 'And?'

Georgiana frowned. 'And nothing,' she said.

'Lady Georgiana,' someone said.

Portia's eyelashes batted at the approaching Earl of Manchester. 'Lord Manchester,' she said, her full lips curved at the handsome Blue Blood.

Kingsley kissed Georgiana's hand first, and then bowed to Portia. 'My ladies,' he said. 'How are you this evening?' He looked undeniably debonair in his dark tailcoat and immaculately tied cravat, a velvet waistcoat around his torso.

'Quite warm,' Portia giggled, fanning again. 'Oh, Lord Manchester, you haven't seen...' She glanced at Georgiana. 'Have you seen Lord Calthorpe here tonight?'

Kingsley sighed, craning his neck around and clasping his hands behind his back. 'I believe I saw him in the adjoining room.' He looked at Georgiana. 'Did you not see him earlier?'

In truth, she had. She had seen him as he walked in, commanding an air and grace that gentlemanly savoir faire and more could only master. Georgiana was sure, was _so sure_ he had seen her; their eyes had locked, but as always, he had been the first to turn away. He had not sought her out all night. 'I believe I saw many gentlemen earlier,' Georgiana said quietly. Indeed, many had asked for a dance before she had time to pull her dance card out at all. But she wanted to get out of the hot, heavily perfumed air, out of the stifling atmosphere of the ball and just _breathe._ 'Forgive me, Manchester, Portia, my breathing is stifled in this room.' And with that, she hastily made her way to the terrace.

Georgiana leaned on the white marble balustrade, revelling in the cool night air. There had been so many people talking and laughing and there was a constant flurry of movement, here and there, round and round, smile this way, look that way, dance with him, dance with the other, curtsy, giggle, fan – Georgiana began to breathe in heavily; somehow, she felt as though she most certainly was not getting enough oxygen. Frederick had not spoken to her in weeks, and the only thing that kept her from truly believing he despised her was his behaviour before he had left Perryton House, and now he was here, in the same house, at the same ball, and he had not even deigned to greet her.

What had happened to their bond, to their heavenly pledge? To the love that had burned millennia after millennia, life after life? What had happened to _forever_? Raphael may have left Paradise to be with Uriel, but Georgiana was sure he regretted the decision every day. She felt weak, spent. She wanted to believe that there was love for her somewhere in his heart, but even if he had, why was he hiding it so well? Georgiana's breath escaped her in a rush. Like she was drained of all strength to even stand...

* * *

'Georgiana?' The tenderest voice she had ever heard gently echoed into her consciousness. Sleep... Mm... Yes, she wanted to roll over, huddle herself in this new, warm, ludicrously comfortable blanket she had found, and sleep...

_Georgiana?_ A small, unsure voice in her mind said.

That voice. That voice – she knew it. Where was she?

_Georgiana? _ the voice said again, still sounding nervous, as though it had been told to be quiet, but had thought better of it. _Dearest?_

Dearest? Georgiana thought. Why would he call her that...

'Georgiana.' His voice was low, deep, but soft. A fine, silky baritone, wrapping around her and wreathing through her heart. 'Darling, are you all right?'

And then Georgiana realised; she was cradled in his arms, and he was holding her with such soft caresses... She was surprised at his gentleness. His whole being exuded power, presence and aristocratic dignity, but the way he held her was as though he were holding the most delicate of flowers, the most vulnerable of creatures. She was almost afraid to open her eyes, to break the spell. Had he followed her out onto the terrace?

'Please, dearest, answer me.' A kind hand with gentle fingers brushed her cheek, and Georgiana let herself believe again in that seemingly lost dream of love, of hope. Of his love for her, of _their_ love that would complete them forever. She wanted to believe it. Gathering what was left of her resolve, Georgiana opened her eyes. Yes, she decided. His eyes were green. They were most definitely a brilliant pale green, with flecks of pale, sky blue. But, if she tilted her head, his eyes looked more sea-foam green, nearer to an aqua. She could have stared into them forever, but she did not miss the concerned, tenderly frightened look in them either.

'My lord?' Georgiana struggled to straighten; one of his knees was on the stone terrace as his arms and torso held her. Had she fainted? She scolded herself mentally; she was going to be fainting all over the place, if she kept this up. Lord Calthorpe gently eased her to her feet, righting her as she swayed a little. He led her to the stone bench, his hand on the small of her back. His fingers burned through the fine silk, and she felt his touch on her skin as though there was nothing between them.

'Frederick,' he corrected. 'Come, sit down,' he said, gentle notes of concern affecting his voice. 'Shall I fetch your mother?' he offered.

Georgiana shook her head. 'She'll only worry unnecessarily,' she said. He had begun to stand, but instinctively, she grabbed his hand. 'No, please... Please... Stay with me.'

The mask shattered, the wall of ice disappearing in a haze of steam. _Always_. His voice was fierce whisper in her mind. Frederick sat down beside her and grasped her hand, bringing it to his lips. _Always, my love. Always and forever._ He kissed every fingertip, his lips brushing over every knuckle, and he pressed a passionate kiss into her palm.

_My love_, Georgiana sent back, hope bursting through her, something swelling in her heart and filling it with joy. _You have not forgotten me._ His lips on her skin created a riot beneath the surface, a rebellion of sweet, shimmering fire.

Frederick stared at her, his very expression telling her he was astounded to think she could think so. _How could I?_ How, _how_ could he have forgotten their love? He could not – it had pained him every single day he was without her. His love... Oh, how beautiful, how pretty, how perfect she was, how utterly beyond words she would always be. And to think, she had thought he did not love her, did not want her, _hated_ her. How wrong, how very wrong she was. That day at Perryton, he had been so overcome with joy, so captivated at the sight of her, he had thought himself unworthy, undeserving. It had tore him apart to think that the one whose heart belonged to him should truly go to someone better than he; feeling as though nothing was as remotely wonderful as she was.

At her first Season, at her presentation and at her coming out ball, he had seen the kind of beauty that had taken him spellbound. It was then that he knew she was his – that she was truly the angel he had loved and adored and protected with his very soul in Paradise. But weeks ago, at Perryton, the coltish girl was no more.

He had stood anchored, his mind reeling with the memories not only of their past lives, but the ones of their childhood, of a sweet, but assertive young girl astride her father's best hunter. She had glided down the stairs; Uriel had always been graceful, even as the juvenile Georgiana, but now she moved like a sylph, as though her feet barely touched the ground. Frederick had tried to reconcile the memories with the slender goddess coming toward him, calm serenity on her beautiful face, dressed in a gown of the most delicate muslin. Her hair shone like the lightest of gold, and those sapphire eyes were so startlingly pretty, it had taken some effort to tear his gaze away.

Throughout the day, he had been afraid of her. Afraid that if she reached with her soul to him, she would see the pitiful, undeserving fool that he was. That she would not love him the way he loved her; all-encompassing, passionately, wholly and unreservedly. That she too would realise that Raphael did not deserve Uriel, that she truly deserved a greater spirit than he. And so he had blocked her out, attempted neutrality; he had been avoiding her all the time in town.

But now, as they sat together for the first time since they had been children, Frederick let her tentative mind reach for his, let her spirit shyly twine with his, almost trying it for size. The thought of her truly belonging to him, of her wanting, loving him, left him shaking with a sudden passion, but Frederick ground his teeth and forced himself to be still, to let her wander his mind. If they were to be bonded, she would know him in every way.

* * *

**So maybe it was a little to mushy for my liking... **

**Okay, it was way too mushy, but I wasn't bothered enough to revamp the whole theme of the chapter - or the ones following. Sue me.**

**But whilst you prepare your legal statement, also type your review!**

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	4. Silks, Perfumes and Stolen Kisses

**I realised that the ending of the last chapter may have been a little vague, but you may have gathered that _something _occurred between Georgiana and Frederick that night... And I realise that the term 'de facto' was probably not in use, or even in existence, during the Regency period.**

* * *

'My darling,' Her Grace said the next morning at breakfast, 'I do hope you know that your... _Rendezvous_ with Lord Calthorpe last night caused quite a stir.' She did not sound accusing – rather, pleased. For any other unmarried woman, regardless of standing in the ton, being alone with a man in most places was most certainly not proper. However, all of London knew of Georgiana's and Frederick's relationship – their engagement was de facto in the sense that it had not been formally announced, but was as sure as the King was royal; the long-standing family alliance, the childhood friendship and ridiculously well-matched fortunes and standings in society was practically a knell to their union. A proposal had not actually been made, but their union was well-known amongst the Blue Bloods, and seemed inevitable to everyone else. It was sure that they would marry, but there had been nothing official, nothing announced. It had been between families in the understanding that Raphael and Uriel were rightly matched, and the bond had been pre-empted.

There was no agreement made between Georgiana and Frederick. But for the certain few in society who had blue in their veins, they were willing to dismiss the slight possible impropriety; Georgiana and Frederick had long been childhood friends (sweethearts, really), and so scandal was minimal, although potentially there. But as one of the women who determined propriety and fashion and all else that mattered in their circles, the Duchess was quite happy for her daughter to _at last_ have spent some time with her future husband, helped by the fact that she could quell and squash any nasty gossip that arose with a perfectly manicured and moisturised iron fist.

People were starting to think that the match would go incomplete – that the Lady Georgiana and Lord Calthorpe were as dry as gravel – that the bond between Uriel and Raphael was somehow, by some cruel twist of fate, fading. But oh, many had seen Georgiana flee to the terrace (by herself thankfully, which took away most of the faux pas in their meeting alone), and then had spotted the very noticeable Lord Calthorpe follow her out. When they had come back into the house together, the Duchess' fellow Patronesses had been overjoyed. Uriel and Raphael's bond was still alive; the Uncorrupted were to be one again.

'Oh.' Georgiana blushed; she was glad she had not caused a scandal, had not humiliated her mama, but what had happened last night was the only thing she could think of, was the only thing she had been thinking of all night, lying awake and shocked at being able to speak to him deep in the glom, through their eternal bond that they would, one day soon, renew.

'I thought you couldn't stand me,' she had whispered as they sat together. Frederick's hand rose and touched her cheek, creating a gentle trail of warmth as he moved his fingers to her lips.

'No,' he murmured, his other hand still wrapped around hers. Her lips were like the youngest, tenderest of rosebuds. 'Forgive me, sweetheart...I never... I never meant to make you feel unwanted.' How wrong, how extraordinarily wrong she was. He had appeared undesiring, unmoved, when all he had wanted to do was take her in his arms and never, ever let go. How close she was, he thought. How freely she let him, a dismally quiet, insipid and peaceful creature, near her, touch her. Her eyes were brilliant in the light of the moon, her skin unlike anything he had ever felt; so soft and smooth, so fine his fingertips tingled, so warm to the touch. When she kissed his fingers, Frederick was deeply humbled. No matter how low he felt he was, no matter what kind of pathetic being he thought himself to be, she belonged to him, body and soul. And it shook him to his core. She was near enough for him to grasp her scent. She smelled sweet, but not cloying. Not perfumed or scented, only a scent that belonged to her and her alone; the smell of sweet blossoms like plums and honeysuckle and jasmine in the fresh morning dew or just after the rain. The scent was heady, and he felt himself draw closer, unable to be too close, too near. Not only was his spirit, his mind responding to its twin; his body felt the pull too.

Georgiana saw the look on his face, could sense his thoughts. He was struck by her, so deeply moved by her that sent a rush of longing to move into his arms again. He _did_ love her! So very much. He had never hated her, had always, _always_ wanted her. She somehow managed to move away, standing up to feel the contentment sweetly coursing through her veins. She leaned on the nearby stone column, its cool surface pleasant against her flushed skin.

Frederick was unable to help himself, following her and taking her hand. Looking down at her face, he saw her eyes were sparkling; she was so pretty, so damned beautiful. A true diamond of the first water – the _greatest_ diamond of the first water – they had all said. They had been lying. She was better than that; more beautiful, more ravishing, lovelier than words could ever do her justice. She was so close that her skirts covered his boots, so close that he could feel her warmth through his breeches. Her lips were a sweet pink, full and lush, untouched by any man... He stifled a groan and bent his head to hers.

He felt the tremor of pleased shock that went through her, sensed her submission to his wish, her equal desire to both appease him and her own want. His lips brushed over hers again and again, and Frederick fought to shackle his overwhelming desire. He had had her in lives before, but now he remembered that, somehow, every time they came together, it seemed both new and old, both familiar and fresh. Every life was unlike the one before it, every first kiss, every first touch, was electric, sparking a riot of emotion and need, physical and mental, but each had its own nuances, its own new sensations. And now, here, it was so very different again.

Frederick held her chin gently between thumb and forefinger, the softness of her lips caressing his own. His other arm wound about her waist, but he stepped closer, pressing her against the column. The hand on her face moved to lean on the stone as well, and gently, his tongue slid against her lips, telling her very clearly what he wanted.

Georgiana clutched the stone behind her, pinned there, accepting his demands, breathing in his musky, clean, earthy scent. She felt his tongue brush against her lips again, his mouth moving in a gentle rhythm that coaxed her, drew her out to this new, fascinating arena that she would only ever enter with him. She hoped he knew that. With no fear, no reluctance, only the assuredness that she trusted him with her heart and her life, she parted her lips, darting her tongue to meet his.

When Frederick felt her lips open, when he tasted the sweet, warm ambrosia of her mouth, he felt a great surge of possessiveness, of protective, fierce, unquenchable emotion for her; desire, need, possession, gentle care, affection and more pumped through him, and he dipped into her mouth, taking what he knew was to be his. But he gave, too, letting her learn, letting her see into that dark, secretive cavern of his desire, filling her wants and needs, her questions, with his own. The fact that she had never been kissed this way before by any other man rocked Frederick, and he held her pressed against him while pressing her immobile to the column, unable to stem the passion in his kiss. Georgiana moaned, the sound of sweet satisfaction and need burning to his soul.

Her fingers had tried to hold steady to the stone, but Georgiana found her hands on his shoulders, sliding up his neck, caressing his nape and spearing into the thick, soft hair. She opened her mouth against his over and over, feeling his tongue sliding against hers, rolling over hers, branding her as his own. He consumed her being so wholly, so completely. His lips were both soft and rough, smooth but definite; she knew that he knew what he wanted, and she gave it to him willingly. The hand on her waist was like a brand through the fine silk.

She tasted of summer, of sweet, everlasting sunshine and cream, of luscious peaches and delectable fruit; she was untouched, as fresh as clean water, invigorating and pure... Kissing her, Frederick could taste her surrender to him, and it was all the sweeter when she tightened her fingers on his head, holding him to her, making sure he knew that she never wanted him to stop. Everything else was unimportant, completely irrelevant, and he felt consumed by their connection, by not only the bond, but by the moment now. He could have kissed happily kissed her for hours, for days, but oh. He didn't want to stop at just a kiss. She was his, and he wanted to make her fully understand just what that meant...

Georgiana heard his groan as he slanted his mouth over hers, possessing, taking, but appeasing and giving in to what she asked – everything. He responded to her questing, curious touch, letting her learn, letting her do as she wished, for this sphere that they shared would never be granted to any other. Georgiana sighed into his mouth, his hard body impelled against hers.

His muscles were bunched tight on the arm against the column, wanting to undo her hair and thread his fingers through the molten gold, but knew that if he did, there would dire consequences inside. Frederick drank her soft sighs and moans, revelling in her desire, but the spell broke when they both heard the applause for the ending song. He fought to steel himself and pull his lips away, but his resolve was incinerated when, with her lips, Georgiana followed his movement, this time winding her arms about his neck and pressing herself to him.

Desire was a savage ache in his body, and Frederick let out a ferocious growl as he backed her against the column again, plundering her mouth with every intention of leaving her wits spinning. But it backfired, when all she gave him was the sweet and tender gentleness of her mouth, softly supplicating him to give her what he had before, and Frederick found himself overcome with tenderness as he gently teased and tasted her again. When he found the miraculous strength to break away, and she followed again, Frederick put his thumb to her lips, touching the soft pink, swollen with his kisses. As Georgiana moaned softly, yearning for his closeness as he pulled away, Frederick felt a part of his very soul seared with the kind of love that had kept them undivided through the millennia. He kissed her hair, breathed in her scent, let it fill him up, soothing before it roused something deeper. She was sweetness, loveliness incarnate.

Georgiana pressed her cheek against the fabric of his coat, her arms unmoving around his middle. She moved and kissed the column of his throat, little trails of flower buds against his skin. Her love, her dear, sweet Frederick – her other half, her twin Raphael – that completed her in a way that only he could.

Frederick's hand tightened on her waist as he drew her chin up with the other, kissing her nose and then pressing his forehead against hers to see those gorgeous sapphire eyes again. He loved her in a way that was almost frightening, all-encompassing, consuming every inch of his soul. He knew now. He knew that he would have sacrificed everything, _everything_ he knew to be with her. It grew easier and easier to believe that he had left what they called Paradise for this beautiful, sweet spirit. The love and warmth of the Almighty was magnificent, unparalleled, but Raphael's Paradise lay with his Uriel.

'Georgiana?' her mother's voice came, popping that pleasant bubble of a memory, interrupting the vivid recollection that sent heat and happiness shivering through her. Georgiana blinked at her boiled egg, innocently sitting in its cup. She lifted her head and her mother looked amused. 'I'm sorry,' Georgiana said, shaking her head. 'My mind... Wandered.'

The Duchess raised a brow, her lips curved in a way that made Georgiana fidget. 'Well, as I was saying, something came for you this morning during your ride in the Park with your father.'

Georgiana's spoon stopped halfway to her egg as a footman came into the parlour carrying a white envelope on a silver tray. Offering it to her, her brow furrowed as she put down her spoon and took the letter.

'Who is it from?' her mother asked, appearing only mildly interested, but her eyes were suspiciously wide.

'A groom from a Lord St Austell came by this morning, my lady,' the footman answered, his limber hands holding the tray.

'A Red Blood,' the Duchess said pensively. 'Very well, my dear, what does he wish to say?'

Georgiana looked at the neat, almost gentle script of the envelope. Her name was beautiful on the paper, and she pried it open and pulled out a folded letter.

'Well?' her mother pressed, dabbing her mouth. But the moment Georgiana unfolded the letter and saw the words, she knew it had not been from Lord St Austell.

'Please, Mama, excuse me,' Georgiana said, hastily pushing back her chair and hurrying out of the parlour, before she used her speed to get back to her room within the blink of an eye. She closed the door and sat at her bay window, overlooking Grosvenor Square. Sunlight filled the room as it did her heart.

_My dearest Georgiana,_

_I am sorry for keeping away from you for so long, for the years that have passed and we have separated; it was not of my doing. I have thought of you every day and every night in my room at Eton, and then at Oxford, and as I passed by every great monument on the Continent, I wondered at how you might have looked if you had seen it with me. Forgive me, my love, for keeping away from you these past weeks. A part of me could not comprehend such a wonderful, blessed creature would ever be bound to me. _

_I wished to see you this morning, however, I could not make a morning call, and we would surely be guilty of excessive impropriety; the ton may forgive us for last night, disappearing together on the terrace, for we are no strangers to each other in this life, and our childhoods are intertwined, and while I long, truly, to spend not another moment away from you, there are customs to which our kind must always adhere to. There is nonesuch as our time together to me, before we bond__..._

Reading on, Georgiana put her fingers to her lips, feeling the rush of breath that escaped her, moved by the deep longing and love twined into his words. He wrote as though she had died, as though their separation had meant something near to death in his heart. A wave of emotion overcame her, making her heart both ache and rejoice, her hands weak and shaky, with a strange, powerful throb deep in her soul. A touch on the back of her hand made her blink; a tear, not lonely for it was followed by another, had fallen from her eye. He spoke of love and destiny and pain and joy, of freedom and yearning and passion...

_...__I will make every attempt to see you as often and for as long as our time in town allows, my love. To think we are so close and yet not together is like a conundrum that I see fit to be rid of. It takes all the strength I have to still myself from invading every minute of your day and calling at every hour – you captivate my every moment of being, and I only wish that I do yours, at least in your heart._

_With all the love I possess, all the wonder and emotion my humble self can give, I am yours, Queen of my heart, Empress of my soul. Always, beyond the hourglass of time and the small measure of this life, the next, all after it and onward still. _

_Always, _

_Frederick_

* * *

The Duke and Duchess of St Ives' and their daughter were strolling down Bond Street; His Grace had accompanied them for the day, rather than going to White's or Brooke's, and held one on each arm. They were a glorious trio; the most powerful and wealthiest duke in all England with the two loveliest women in the country on each arm.

_It has begun,_ his wife sent.

The Duke smiled warmly. _We must only wait, now. _He looked fondly at his daughter, happier than she had been several days ago, indeed, weeks ago. There was a lightness in her movement, a joy in her step. He had heard from Worthing that the Lord Calthorpe had sent her a letter every morning. Well. He had always liked an articulate, if not determined chap.

Georgiana clung to her father happily. They had bought for her from the city's most gifted modistes a new set of morning gowns, afternoon gowns, promenade gowns, evening gowns and all the associated gloves, slippers and accessories. Of course, the dresses were still to be made; the daughter of the Duke of St Ives' hardly ever wore ready made clothing; she would visit the maker, state what kind of item she was after and any particular preferences in fabric and colour or if she desired a type of cut or design and such, have her measurements taken, and then would have the dress delivered to St. Ives House. It was a refreshing sort of experience, thought Georgiana. She had not done it since the last Season. She spotted one of her family's coachmen just down the street; Gerald, a kind-natured boy, barely a man, but whose touch with horses was legendary. When he saw them, he hopped down from the seat and waited for them, opening the Anstruther-Black's town carriage door and letting down the stairs. But before they stepped in, Georgiana saw the man she had been with yesterday at the museum, and at Vauxhall the day before that, and on Rotten Row before that – chaperoned by her mother, of course, and discreetly. The man who had sent passionate, heart-wrenching love letters to her every morning so that she always knew how much he loved her.

He looked dashing in his highly polished Hessians, dark trousers and pallid blue waistcoat. His ebony tailcoat hung on his frame wonderfully, his broad shoulders encased in the impeccably tailored garment. The dark golden blond waves were in stylish disorder, a lock hanging over his brow. His eyes were shining as he approached them and bowed to the Duke and Duchess, before his expression turned to that of utmost happiness as he looked at Georgiana. Almost instinctively, he reached for her half-raised hand, and kissed it.

'Ah, Calthorpe,' the Duke greeted cheerfully. 'Not at White's this afternoon?'

Frederick smiled back, shaking his head. 'No, Your Grace, I was there just now.'

The Duke waved a hand to Gerald; the coachmen folded the stairs and shut the carriage door.

'Walk with us a while, won't you?' the Duchess said.

'Delighted to,' Frederick replied as Georgiana broke away from her father and took the arm that Frederick offered her. They walked a few paces ahead of her mother and father, and Frederick placed a surreptitious kiss on her temple. 'I have missed you,' he murmured. He had only seen her yesterday – but every moment was an eternity.

_I have missed you too, my darling._

They walked in contented silence down the street; some gentlemen tipped their hats, others raised them, and a few narrowed their eyes at Frederick in contempt. Ladies' jaws were inclined to drop at the sight of the most wanted heir in London walking closely with another woman, but all who were anyone in society knew that the certain woman was the daughter of the most influential lady in the ton and the most powerful man in all the nobility. The Blue Bloods were a little less frazzled; aside from the fact that Georgiana was Uriel, and that she was the daughter of the Regis, and that Frederick was Raphael, some were only slightly annoyed at the magnificent sight of the pair. Annoyed because some had been hoping for a slight flirtation with one of them, at least.

Georgiana stopped at the window of Asprey's; surrounded by glittering baubles and necklaces and rings of every colour and hue, was the jeweller's crowning glory and pride, obvious by the centre position in the window, nestled on a bed of black silk.

'_That_ was made for you,' said Frederick's voice at her ear. The whisper against her skin made her shiver pleasantly.

What had caught her eye and what he was referring to were sapphires, in a restrained but elegant setting, refined and tasteful in its simplicity. The setting was of white gold; the new metal, having been researched and experimented with in Spain only a few decades ago, was equally, if not more, precious than gold. It was a necklace, three sapphires in the centre the size of guineas, while smaller ones gleamed in the chain. Surrounding the blue stones were white diamonds, as though crowning each azure jewel. Against the black silk, the piece was striking; the bright silver, like frozen moonlight, and the dark, brilliant blue of the sapphires.

'They're... Lovely.' An all-but-overwhelming desire to have them took her. Although Georgiana did not want her father to buy them. She wanted them to be from Frederick. But she would not make Frederick spend such a king's ransom on her before their engagement. He hadn't even proposed yet, but perhaps he didn't need to? Considering their circumstance, was it customary for him, or even necessary, for him to propose? They would be bonded, inevitably, so did he really need to ask her? Looking into her memories briefly, Georgiana knew then that in every life, before every bonding, her love had always been kind enough, caring enough to ask if she would bond with him, would join her soul with his, for that life.

Even at the risk of her saying no.

* * *

The Duke and his family went to the opera that night, and Lord Calthorpe had accompanied them, as always, Georgiana noted, unobtrusively followed by his Red Blood Conduit Lord St Austell. Her own Conduit, an old friend and oft mistaken suitor, Jack Belvedere, was also present, but he was taking care of his family's social relations.

Frederick laid Georgiana's hand on his arm gently and led her into the Duke's box seats. It was a performance of Don Giovanni, but as the opening notes reverberated around the theatre, he wasn't even paying attention to the stage. His gaze was fixed on Georgiana beside him. Her skin was so temptingly smooth, so fair and wonderfully soft, and Frederick felt an urge to glide his fingers across her cheek, touch her throat and kiss the pulse that beat there. The soft blonde of her hair was pinned up, but gentle wisps came down against her temple and her ears. He could barely hear the opera at all; the room was quiet as far as he was concerned. He longed to kiss her again, to caress those flower petal lips and devour her outright.

She looked with usual interest at the drama on stage, but Georgiana was excruciatingly aware of Frederick's gaze on her. He was so brazen, so unashamed, and it gave her a heady thrill to think that nothing disguised his affection here in the dark of the opera. She nearly jumped when he furtively took her hand, drawing it into his lap and caressing it with his fingers. The damned silk of her long glove was pointless in protecting her; Georgiana felt the warmth of his hands as though they were not there at all. But she swallowed, focusing on the opera again, attempting to surreptitiously pull her hand away, but her pull was weak, and Frederick was holding her wrist, playing with her slim digits. Georgiana was glad they were at the far end of the box, the furthest away from the stage, and that the seats were angled toward the front, so unless her mother twisted to look at her daughter, she could not see what was going on behind.

Frederick was playing with her fingers, in wonder at the stark contrast of his own longer, larger digits to her slim, dainty ones. His fingertips wandered up her wrist, leaving a smouldering trail of tingling, and grazed the soft skin of her inner elbow; he felt Georgiana start, and she turned to stare at him, both surprised and unsure. But Frederick held her gaze, all the while slowly sliding her glove down her arm, around her hand, and off. Georgiana looked away hastily, the pink on her high cheekbones flaming. It was, indeed, only a glove, but she felt exposed, open. His touch was soothing, but it incited something beneath her skin that Georgiana knew could be very, very dangerous in decent society. He would have her on her knees, clamouring to him like a harlot if he kept this up.

He kept his touch light, stroking her palm, round and round, up and down from her wrist to her middle finger tip, but it was still somehow thoroughly distracting. Georgiana shifted a little, drawing breath and trying to grasp the words of Donna Anna's soprano. His fingers stroked the skin of her inner wrist before caressing each of her fingers in his own, feeling the seemingly delicate bones of her knuckles. Georgiana stifled a gasp when she felt the heat of his lips. She spared a glance out of the corner of her eye – oh, dear God – she could feel his tongue sliding between each of her knuckles. She knew it was only the tiniest glimpse of what he wanted – what he _intended – _to do to her once they were bonded. Georgiana felt a shiver of heat at the thought. Her other hand, still gloved and untouched, felt cold, lonely as its companion relished all of Frederick's loving attentions. Georgiana weakly tried to tug her hand away again, but he kept his firm unerringly gentle and firm.

_Frederick... Please..._

_Hm?_

_S-stop it – someone will... Someone will see..._

_No one will see. _His voice in her mind was like a tendril of temptation, assured and desirous. _You are too delectable for me to resist._

Georgiana swallowed thickly, only mildly aware of the belting baritone onstage. What had happened to her quiet, unassuming Frederick? He always seemed to take on a sharper, more rakish air when it had anything to do with their sensuality, and it made something inside her ignite and spread to know that he desired her above all. That he wanted her in his arms, in his bed...

_Was it that hard to tell? _he teased.

_Shush... I'm trying to – trying to watch..._

_

* * *

_**The kiss may have been a bit much, I realise, but the rest was okay, right?**

**spiffy**


	5. You Are Cordially Invited

**I'd like to inform everyone that while I do plan to continue this story (so many things you must know about my darling Uriel and Raphael!), I recently started writing the sequel to When We Say Forever, and am quite caught up in that at the moment. So, for now, this story will be on hiatus.**

_**HIATUS**_

**It's nothing too serious; I just find it hard to get psyched into one setting and theme at the same time as another. This will be the last chapter I will upload for this story for now, but I will return to it. Promise :)**

* * *

It was the end of April, and the Season was in full swing; balls, breakfasts, parties and dinners smattered across London like a daisies in a field. The greatest and most exclusive, however, were those of the Patronesses, whose gatherings were legendary amongst the ton. When Georgiana's own mother, the Duchess of St Ives, leading Patroness at Almack's and wife of the Regis, held her ball, London polite society was in uproar, clamouring, praying for an invite.

Her Grace's balls were, next to Almack's, the best place to search for a good match; all of society's wealthiest and titled single gentlemen, and the prettiest heiresses of only the best breeding, were always invited, as well as England's most powerful aristocracy. Her balls were not only dances, but a show of the family's prosperity – tastefully so, of course – and of the Duchess' unrivalled skill at hosting. It was the greatest chance for the ton's matrons to expose their daughters to the finest single men (or rather, for the Blue Bloods, to the possibility of their twin), and for them to display their finery from London's dressmakers. Simply being _present_ was a sign of one's gentility and status.

Invitations had been sent out four weeks earlier, and in those four weeks, the uninvited had attempted to ingratiate themselves with the Duchess or her husband, some beady-eyed matrons even trying to push their daughters into befriending Georgiana in the vain hope of her recommending their family for the ball. But only the elite and the powerful had been invited to the St Ives' ball at their Grosvenor Square mansion – the Blue Bloods, the crème de la crème of the ton. The Red Blood members of society who were not invited, the mamas and daughters at least, bemoaned the lost chance of meeting an eligible match, not the least of whom was the immeasurably handsome, and spectacularly wealthy Earl of Calthorpe, future Marquess of Winchester, Frederick, Lord Calthorpe. Red Blood gentlemen were distraught at the thought of the Lady Georgiana, the Duchess' daughter, who at a ripe twenty one, with an infamous dowry, the most pleasant and charming air, and was the most ravishing beauty in the history of London, being snapped up by one of the invited guests for her hand.

The Duchess met her guests at the door, knowing each by name, joined by her husband. When the Frederick arrived, his parents the Marquess and Marchioness of Winchester, were already there. His mother was talking gaily with her friend the Duchess, but she broke away for a moment to subtly direct him to the salon, where the heart of the party – among other things – lay waiting.

* * *

It was impossible to miss her, even in the frothy, extravagant throng of silk and satin and lace and ribbons, bursting with every colour. The lofty ballroom was alive with chatter and vivacity, perfume drifting and mingling, full of guests smiling and bowing and curtseying and laughing for reasons Frederick didn't care for. But even though he had just entered through the door, and she on the other end of the salon, she was the first thing that Frederick saw.

She stood at ease, her hair shone a burnished white-gold, rendered a halo by the chandelier above. Unlike the tight ringlets favoured by the ton, Georgiana's hair was in soft waves, barely curls, and tonight they were piled in artful disarray atop her head; a few gilded wisps wreathed about her delicate ears and nape, drawing attention to her slender neck. Her shoulders, a warm, creamy ivory, were revealed, left bare by the stunningly elegant gown of the palest blue. The long, flattering lines, the smooth sweeps of the skirt, the subtle way the bodice accentuated the slender contours beneath – the signs of only London's greatest dressmaker, Madame Beaumier. The tiniest of puffed sleeves were set well off the shoulders, in no way distracting from the long, elegant curves of Georgiana's arms, or from the slender beauty of her shoulders.

She was laughing, standing with friends, her smile somehow the centrepiece of the whole ballroom. Inside himself, Frederick felt something coalesce, solidify, strengthen into one crystal-clear emotion. Georgiana's cheeks were delicately flushed, her eyes alight like sapphire suns; her rose tinted lips were parted, as she held her fan in those beautiful, slender and ungloved hands.

Frederick made a line for her, politely nodding at those who greeted him – he spotted Kingsley surrounded by a gaggle of debutantes, and he smirked at Frederick customarily as a hello – but intent on only reaching Georgiana. She was, at that moment and for many more, both now and in future, perfection itself.

* * *

'To think, all gathered here tonight are Blue Bloods,' Fitzwilliam de Winter, the Viscount of Tavistock, said. He was a handsome man of twenty two, and was in Georgiana's private circle of friends, of which others included the Lady Portia Sandringham, the Lady Catriona Wilford, and Brandon Carrington, the Earl of Waverly. 'An inspiring thought.'

'I wish we had been allowed familiars, though,' Brandon said slyly. He lowered his voice. 'Things would have doubtlessly been more interesting then!'

Georgiana swatted him gently with her fan on the shoulder, unable to smother a laugh at the image of Brandon having several familiars at once in the cloakroom. His sense of humour was not of everyone's taste, but she had known him since her first Season, and had been great friends ever since. Suddenly, she sensed the one she had been waiting for, and she raised her head to look about the ballroom; the orchestra sat on the farthest corner while she and her companions were just off the far-centre. And there he was, in all his magnificent glory, in a dark blue tailcoat of Bath superfine, a silk, pallid green waistcoat and ivory inexpressibles that led down to polished Hessians. His hair was brushed back, leaving a gentle wave atop his forehead that Georgiana wanted to run her fingers through, and his cravat was held together by a diamond pin.

As he came toward them, he sensed Georgiana take a breath, her eyes widen, before darkening. He bowed to Catriona and Portia in greeting, who curtsied, and then shaking Brandon's and Fitzwilliam's hands, he turned to Georgiana, the green of his eyes lit up in joy. He took the hand she offered, placed a reverent kiss on her knuckles, and then sat it on his arm.

'Calthorpe!' Brandon said, after the customaries. 'You missed lunch at the club the other day!'

Frederick smiled wryly. 'My apologies, I was retained by... Other commitments. Perhaps we'll dine at White's tomorrow?' He had, in truth, been kissing Georgiana silly at Vauxhall, but no one needed to know that, most certainly not Brandon Carrington.

'A fine idea, old chap...'

But Frederick had already turned his attentions to Georgiana, kissing her temple and nuzzling her ear for a moment, and only a moment; any longer would have been improper. _You are beauty personified, my love._ He felt her hand tighten warmly on his arm.

His voice was deep, both tender and seductive, both loving and tempting; a silky, sweet syrup that sank deep into her bones. Georgiana turned to look into his face; the bright green of his eyes sparkled, glimmered with what she recognised from the millennia before as love.

'Will you honour me with a waltz?' he asked, softly stroking her fingers with his free hand.

Georgiana's heart was racing in a pleasant rhythm of joy. 'Yes.' As if to show him, she pulled out her dance card and filled his name in the space, but he saw that nearly all her spaces were already filled, and the dancing had not started. He raised a brow. The waltz would have been the first to have been taken, surely?

Reading his thoughts, Georgiana flushed. _I'd told anyone who asked that the dance was already taken._

Frederick's eyes lit up. He was touched. _You waited for me?_ Decorum called for a request for a dance on any young, unmarried woman to be accepted unless for a reason such as a headache or no knowledge of the dance, or of course no knowledge of the gentleman who had requested (but no true gentleman would _ever_ ask a woman he had never been introduced to) – but she had deflected all with a little fib that endeared her to him; the little minx knew how to get her way.

_Of course._

* * *

As a technically single man, with no official fiancée, Frederick was at the disposal of the hostess – the Duchess – to be partnered. Gladly, she partnered him with Georgiana. His circumstance also allowed him another dance with her. Her Grace of St. Ives claimed her dance card was full, and practically pushed him in Georgiana's direction, just before a Lord Villiers was about to approach her.

'Might I have the next dance, Georgiana?' Frederick asked, smiling.

'You may.'

As Georgiana beamed, he kissed her hand again, and turned to find Lord Villiers waiting. He was an attractive man, rather a bit of a dandy, with dark curly hair and a slender frame, wearing the stiffest collar either of them had ever seen along with an outrageously coloured coat.

'My lady,' Lord Villiers said, bowing. 'Might I be so bold to enquire to be your partner for a dance?'

Frederick repressed his urge to snort.

'Oh, my lord,' Georgiana said apologetically, 'I'm afraid my last dance has just been taken by Lord Calthorpe!' She was trying to sound sorry as she motioned to the tall, handsome man beside her. 'Perhaps another time?'

Frederick smiled gaily when Lord Villiers glared as he walked past.

'Don't be so smug,' Georgiana scolded, although she was smiling.

_How can I not,_ Frederick sent, grinning, w_hen I have you with me?_

Being Georgiana's assigned partner, he led her in to supper and kept her company during. When they went back into the ballroom, he escorted her out, and then gave her up to her father for the next dance. Afterwards, he watched her from the other end of the room as she mingled and spoke with her mother's guests and danced with other gentlemen. There were times that she was surrounded by up to eight of them, all with Georgiana in their sights. This was not unusual in the least, Frederick knew; she was oft surrounded by gentlemen that way at parties and gatherings and balls, but there was something that tightened and stabbed a little too deep for his liking when he thought about it. He considered speaking to her using the glom, but instead, Frederick decided to use something more conventional – a fan. Plenty of gentlemen of his class carried one, but Frederick had had to borrow one from Kingsley, who merely raised a brow but gave it to him without a word.

But before he had the chance to use it, Fanny Faringdon, a younger daughter of the Lord Eastwater, sidled up to him and giggled.

'My lord,' she said, smiling girlishly.

Frederick bowed. She had been introduced to him once before; sweet, but slightly brainless. This was her first Season, and as a Blue Blood, that meant she was only fifteen. 'Miss Fanny.' He never did like the name Fanny...

'This ball is absolutely wonderful!' she said. 'Mama says that Her Grace has certainly outdone herself again!'

Forcing a smile, Frederick nodded. 'Yes, the Duchess is the best at what she does.'

'Are you free for the next dance?'

Frederick wanted to frown, but his face was kind. 'I'm afraid not, Miss Fanny. Do you still have space on your card?'

Fanny's face dropped. 'Oh – oh, well, yes...'

'Perhaps you might ask Lord Martin,' he offered, motioning to the handsome Earl of Manchester causing a circle of women to laugh.

'Yes... Yes, I might...'

Frederick watched her walk away dejectedly after he bowed again, and he searched for Georgiana in the crowd. Her blue eyes were like lights across the room. He smiled, but she fanned herself with her bare left hand, keeping his gaze, not looking entirely pleased. Frederick read the signal.

Don't flirt with that woman.

Frederick softened his expression and opened his fan, swinging it downward. I belong to you.

Georgiana smiled back, and began quickly fanning herself with the open fan. I love you so much.

Feeling a surge of confidence and elation, Frederick took a breath and touched the tip of his fan with a finger. I wish to speak to you.

Georgiana responded by closing her fan and rested it against her right eye. She looked coy, and teasing, but Frederick knew what it meant. When can I see you?

Frederick wanted to kick himself. Not only could he not say what he wanted to say with the damned fan, he couldn't explain why he couldn't talk to her now. They couldn't be alone here at all; the terrace was too open, and anywhere else was _too_ private – he'd ruin her. Not that it mattered, exactly, considering that he intended to bond with her anyway, but still.

_Will you go to the park tomorrow?_

Georgiana appeared to think. _I am not sure. This party will go on till the morning, I think, and we may stay at home to write letters of thank you after breakfast._

Frederick's heart sank. The sooner he spoke to her, the better.

_Why? What do you wish to speak to me about?_

Shaking his head to himself, Frederick pressed his lips into a hard line. There were a number of things he wished to _do_ with her, but only one thing at the moment he wished to literally speak about. _What about the afternoon?_

_Yes, I may be free then. Why?_

_Come with me to Gunter's._

_Sweets? Is that what you want to speak to me about? Sweets?_ She sounded annoyed, and even a note disappointed.

Frederick grinned at her from across the room. _No, my love. But please ask your mother if she will allow you to come with me._ Gunter's Tea Shop was one of the only places in London – the world, really – that a woman could be seen alone with a man without any impropriety or scandal. He knew she loved the ices there; they served a number of frozen desserts and sweet-things.

Georgiana looked highly dissatisfied, but it was so adorable Frederick grinned. _Very well,_ she said, not sounding well about it at all.

Frederick sighed as he watched her make her way to her mother, a clear irritation in her step. Oh, she was a darling. Now. All he had to do was find the Duke...

* * *

As a shaft of light pierced through the window, Georgiana blinked warily. She rolled over, wrapping the sheets about her tighter. The ball had gone till four o'clock, and normally when in town without having a long night, she woke at ten or eleven. She heard the downstairs clock – her great grandfather's old thing – chime, a muted, weak sound from where she was, and Georgiana wondered for a moment what time it was. She shook the thought away and buried her face in the pillow, when there was a light tap on the door.

Georgiana suppressed an unladylike grunt. 'Come in.'

The door opened to admit her maid Ellie carrying a heavily laden tray. 'Good morning, my lady.' She curtsied.

Frowning and running her fingers through her hair, Georgiana eyed the bell pull. 'I didn't ring.'

'No, but Her Grace gave orders that breakfast be brought up to you, my lady. She said you'd had a long night, and that you might like a lie in... She and His Grace are having breakfast in their apartments too.' Ellie smiled. 'You look lovely, even after all that dancing and revelry, my lady.' She looked around curiously, lifting the tray slightly. 'In bed, ma'am?'

'Yes, please.' Her mother liked her to breakfast and dine with her on most days, but it seemed the ball had taken its toll on all of them. Ellie came forward and placed the tray on her knees. As Georgiana picked up a thick slice of buttered toast, she asked, 'Aren't you tired, Ellie?' She motioned to the edge of the bed. 'Sit down.'

But the maid, beaming as she sat, shook her head. 'No, ma'am. I'm quite awake; your mama let me have the night to myself after helping you prepare...'

Hm. Georgiana had heard that her mother had let her own maid spend the night as she pleased. Only the necessary servants were required to stay for the ball, such as the footmen, the grooms, the cooks and the kitchen maids. A mischievous, knowing glint was suddenly in her eyes. 'Did you see Eric, then?'

Ellie's mask as kind-but-detached maid dropped, and she giggled. 'Yes.' A blush on her cheeks made her seem the young seventeen that she was.

Georgiana grinned back as Ellie prepared her a cup of tea. There were moments like these when Ellie could stop referring to her mother and father as their Graces, and the already friendly relationship between them went down the formal ladder a few steps.

'I heard from the other girls,' Ellie said, referring to the housemaids who had been there last night, 'that you and Lord Calthorpe were about inseparable! And if I may say so, my lady...'

'Go on.'

'He's the most handsome man I've ever seen!' Ellie confessed. 'Even more handsome than your father!' She beamed. 'I'm very happy for you, ma'am.'

At this, Georgiana somehow found reason to frown. 'Don't be,' she warned. 'I'm not engaged yet.'

But Ellie seemed to think it unimportant. 'But he's devoted to you, ma'am. Even _I_ can see he adores you – it's only a matter of time! You won his heart a long time ago, I think, ma'am.'

Yes, thought Georgiana, chewing pensively on the fried eggs and bacon. A very, very long time ago. Long before the world even existed, before the creation of humanity.

'I'd best be going, my lady,' Ellie said, standing to curtsy.

'Wait, here,' Georgiana said, offering her maid one of her muffins, laden with strawberry jam and clotted cream. She knew Ellie liked them.

'Oh – oh no, ma'am, I shouldn't...'

'Go on,' Georgiana insisted. A girl, regardless of class or wealth, had her right to sweet things, after all. 'I don't think I'll be able to finish all this anyway.' She could, frankly, and the whole house knew it, but she didn't think she'd need to eat so much anyway. There was still her fried eggs, bacon, toast, the crumpets, the fruit... Yes, she'd have a lovely morning.

Ellie sat down again, looking as though she were about five and taking biscuits before dinner. 'Thank you, ma'am,' she said, taking the muffin Georgiana offered her. Taking a hesitant nibble, she said, 'I do love Cook's strawberry jam.'

Georgiana grinned.

'Oh, I nearly forgot!' Ellie moved the muffin away from her mouth. 'Your mama says that his lordship will be arriving at three o'clock.'

'Three? What time is it now?'

'About half past eleven, ma'am.'

Georgiana sighed. She was still curious about what he wanted to talk to her about. The bond, maybe? Or maybe he just wanted to kiss her again – not that she didn't enjoy it. He was more than fond of kissing her – he had said he would do it every hour of the day, if he were allowed. She blushed at the thought. The last time he'd been able to have her lips to himself was at Vauxhall, hidden by the pretty hedges and rosebushes. Her mother had cut that interlude quite short when she realised that the two of them had meandered off by themselves. Frederick's tongue had been busy distracting hers when her mother had cleared her throat quite loudly, and the both of them had been flushed with embarrassment.

The Duchess had not been pleased.

* * *

'Good afternoon,' Frederick said brightly, his hair handsomely dishevelled by his ride on his phaeton.

'Frederick,' the Duchess said warmly, standing from her chair in the morning room. She had seen him and Georgiana last night; the way that they looked at each other, how they were together. Half the ton knew that they were now virtually off the marriage mart; he pursued no other, and she entertained no one else. He and her daughter were bond twins, and the Duchess accepted that, but there were still the codes of conduct to abide by. Her husband had informed her that most of them that applied now would not apply for very much longer, and she beamed at the Lord Calthorpe, who appeared equally happy. 'Georgiana will be down in a moment. Please, sit down,' she said, motioning to an empty armchair.

'Ah, begging your pardon, Your Grace,' Frederick said apologetically, 'but I believe she's just...'

And then at that moment, as if on cue, Georgiana came down the stairs; she paused at the landing, before skipping down the last steps and walking toward them. She looked thoroughly happy as well.

_You are joyous, this morning, _Frederick teased.

_And why should I not be?_ Georgiana sent back, feeling refreshed and quite open to the world. _I have you with me – why should I be sad?_

_You should not be sad, _Frederick sent, a fierce pleading in his words. _I do not want you to be sad, my love._

_Thus I am happy. _Georgiana smiled, and he raised her hand to his lips, his mouth lingering there longer than was at all necessary.

The Duchess cleared her throat again, and the bubble the pair had unconsciously blown around themselves burst with a gentle pop. 'I believe his lordship is taking you to Gunter's?' she said to her daughter, eyeing her sternly. There was only so much bending even bond twins could do to the social code; if she heard so much as a whisper that they were kissing in public again...

Waiting outside St. Ives House was Frederick's open phaeton and two of his dazzling greys, whinnying at the sound of their master, who, after helping Georgiana into the carriage, stepped forward to rub their heads. Frederick climbed in and taking the reins, whistled, and the horses obediently went forward.

To all observers, the pair were silent. Of course, really, they weren't.

_You are awfully indulgent, _Georgiana sent playfully. _At the ball with me last night; taking me out the morning after – very indulgent, indeed._

_I would never be an inch from you, if I could, my darling._ Frederick had it planned out perfectly. They would go to Gunter's, bask in the warm sunshine, eating their ices from the carriage, and then onto Hyde Park...

* * *

Gunter's Tea Shop was famous for serving the upper classes sweet ices and treats, and as a waiter weaved through the carriages on the road and brought Georgiana and Frederick their royal-flavoured ice and burnt filbert ice, the pair observed that a few couples were out as well. Like Almack's and Rotten Row, aside from the icy sweet things, one came to Gunter's to see and be seen.

'So, my dear Frederick,' Georgiana said as Frederick reclined a little in the phaeton's seat. 'What is it you wish to speak to me about?' Her royal ice was wonderfully creamy with a hint of spiced citrus.

Frederick looked at his spoon thoughtfully. 'How terribly good Gunter's is on a warm day like this.' He dug it back into his mound of ice and smiled at her.

Georgiana frowned. 'Frederick.'

'Georgiana?'

Glaring at him, Georgiana let out a quiet, exasperated sound. Why was he being so... _Coy_? Focusing on her ice, she turned away to look to the other side of the street at the shopfront – and shivered when she felt Frederick's fingers stroking her arm. 'Stop it,' she said, pulling it away. 'People can see us.'

'They can't see _this_.' Frederick slid the backs of his fingers up and down Georgiana's upper arm. She was so delightful when she was annoyed. He didn't like seeing her unhappy or upset, but _annoyed_, she was absolutely irresistible. Using his Blue Blood to his advantage, he kissed her cheek before anyone could see, and before Georgiana could protest, he'd already planted a kiss on her jaw, her neck, and her collarbone. And though they were quick, they were now tingling spots of heat. And then he kissed the corner of her mouth, tasting the sweet ice that she had been eating.

'Frederick!' she hissed, blushing furiously. He hadn't even kissed her properly on the mouth and she was red as a raspberry.

But all he did was motion to a nearby waiter, who took their finished glasses, take the reins and get the horses moving again.

'Where are we going?' she asked, startled and a little bit dazed, her frustration fading as quickly as it had come.

'Hyde Park.' He smiled at her. 'The weather's lovely. I thought you'd appreciate a stroll.'

* * *

'Frederick.'

'Hm?'

They were, for all intents and purposes, alone. They were in a quiet part of the park, walking on the path along the southern bank of the Serpentine. The trees that lined the path were lush and green, providing dappled shade as they walked. Regardless, they were walking separately, side by side, but her hands clasped to her front, his behind his back.

'Why did you bring me here?'

'For the sheer pleasure of your company, sweetheart.'

Georgiana made a face, stopping, and Frederick turned to take her hands in his, kissing them, before leading her to a nearby bench. She sat down, and he sat down beside her, stroking her hands with his thumbs.

'Frederick,' she said again. Why had he called her out today? She thought he might spend the day at home, or relaxing at one of his clubs. It _was_ the day after the Season's grandest ball, after all.

Frederick stared at his own hands, saw them shaking and forced them to be still by grasping onto Georgiana's. He found his throat was rough, and he looked up at her eyes – those brilliant blue eyes – and suddenly found his mouth was dry. He looked down again, as if to ponder, or perhaps to regroup his thoughts.

'Dearest?' Georgiana gently put a hand to his cheek, raising his gaze to hers again; he turned his head and pressed a passionate kiss to the centre of her palm. And then, still holding her hand, he moved off the bench...

...And down onto one knee before her.

* * *

**Oh, don't fret kids, the engagement is barely half the story for Uriel and Raphael's Regency cycle... ;)**

**But remember to keep an eye out for the sequel to When We Say Forever, my newest project, **

**When Forever Ends****:**

**It's a waiting game back in New York, and Schuyler van Alen is doing everything she can to prepare for whatever lays ahead, while the Uncorrupted set about strengthening the Blue Blood community. But when the whole lot of them is sent back to Duchesne, Charles goes MIA again, and Blue Bloods around the city go missing, it's easier said than done.**


End file.
